


wise men say

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pregnancy, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think it’s going to be fairly obvious to everyone that this is not your baby.”</p><p>Trip scoffs. “I’d like to see someone try to say otherwise. Hell, I’ll fight <i>May</i> if she tries - I’ll <i>lose</i>, but I’ll do it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I keep starting multi-chapter works? Have I not learned? That being said, I'm gonna treat this as more of a drabble series than anything. So the next installment might take place five minutes after this, it might take place five months after this. We're following where the muse leads here.

After nearly twenty minutes of searching, Trip finally finds Jemma in the last place he wants to find her. No, that’s not true. The _last_ place is displayed on the monitor in front of her and she doesn’t take her eyes off it - off the bastard locked away down there - when he lets the door shut a little too loudly behind him or even when he calls her name. The observation room is dark, lit more by the light coming from the screen than the lights overhead, but it’s still plenty to see how pale she is.

Trip’s here because Fitz needs her. He’s fine, only got a tiny scratch when the screwdriver slipped in his hand and didn’t even need stitches for it, but it’s more than he would’ve gotten a couple months ago and he’s shut down again. Skye’s with him, trying to get him to come out of it, but Jemma’ll probably do better so Trip’s come looking. From the looks of things here though, Jemma needs a little help of her own.

“Hey.” He kneels down next to her chair - she’s looking down into the monitor so it puts him on a better level to be noticed - and reaches slowly into her lap to take one of her limp hands. It feels cold, _icy_ , and he immediately wraps both of his around it to warm it up. “Talk to me. What’s going on in there?”

She takes a deep breath and it shakes her whole body. He inches a little closer to her. “Ward-” she says, but even that’s too much.

Yeah, nothing good ever starts with that bastard. Trip adds her other hand to the little cocoon of warmth he’s got going. Jemma doesn’t look like she notices.

“I-” She stops again, looking so pained he genuinely considers going downstairs and knocking Ward on his ass. “I’m pregnant,” she says finally.

Trip’s hands slip on Jemma’s. He knows from her wince that she takes it as a sign of rejection and that can’t be helped now, but he can still do something. “Okay,” he says, standing. “Stay here. I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

Ward’s awake, reading _The Tempest_  of all things. Trip’s gonna make him eat it.

Jemma must see that on his face because she grabs him before he can take more than a step. “Trip! _No!_ ”

He whirls - another move he regrets because she stumbles back, looking scared. It takes every damn ounce of his self control to keep his voice even when he asks, “Did he hurt you?”

She shakes her head, then hangs it like she’s got anything to be ashamed of. “It was before we knew. It happened at Providence.”

So after _Ward_ knew he was out. While he was in the middle of playing them for the hard drive, making plans to kidnap Skye and kill Koenig and spinning damn lies about “one for me, one for you.” Bastard.

Too late, Trip does what he should’ve done in the first place and pulls Jemma into a hug. She melts against him, her hands never quite sure where it’s appropriate to settle and her whole body shuddering with these little noises that can’t be sobs because she’s not even letting herself _cry_.

Trip stares at the screen over her head, at the son of a bitch who did this to her, who broke brave, beautiful, loving Jemma Simmons’ heart and who _keeps_ breaking it. Much as he wants to go down there and break Ward in return, he’s glad Jemma stopped him. _He_ might feel better after slamming Ward’s head into the wall a few times, but _she_ wouldn’t; _this_ is what Jemma needs, to know she’s not alone, she’s still got friends who care about her.

He lets her go on as long as she likes and, once she’s settled, pulls her out of the observation room and into the closet across the hall. It’s cramped and the shelves are jammed to the ceiling with individually wrapped kitchen sponges, but it doesn’t have a view of Grant Ward, so it’s a step up.

“Listen,” he says, gripping her shoulders gently, “in a perfect world you’d have all the time you needed to process and think, but-”

“If this were a perfect world, this wouldn’t be happening at all,” she says with a little of her old snark.

“Yeah,” he agrees, smiling because _thank God_ she’s back. “And also you’re a terrible liar. So there’s pretty much no way to keep this quiet.” He gives her shoulders a squeeze. “What do you wanna do?”

She takes in a breath and holds it so long he starts to worry she’s gonna pass out. “Coulson was-” she says in stops and starts like she can’t keep enough breath inside to say it all at once, “thinking of sending me on an undercover mission.”

Trip doesn’t bother to hide his shock.

“I doubt that will be possible now.”

“No,” he agrees, laughing a little at her wry tone. She’s so _strong_. How is she always so strong? He’s freaking out and he’s not even the one having the kid.

And that’s a weird thought; it _hurts_. He’s always had it bad for Jemma - _very_ bad, Garrett spent the entire trip to lock Quinn up in the Fridge needling him about it - but he’s done his best to keep his distance what with SHIELD falling and the world going to hell and Fitz and all. He thought he was doing an okay job of keeping his feelings in check, turns out he was just lying to himself. Damn.

Not that he’s even got any right to feel bad. Jemma’s the one having a psycho’s baby and that kid, assuming she keeps it, is gonna have a hell of a weight on its shoulders right out of the gate.

The urge to go down to the vault resurfaces and he tamps it down.

“So,” he says, forcing his tone to keep light, “you want me to find May?” Coulson’s out, hunting for more agents caught in the wind, and that leaves May more or less in charge. Trip doesn’t know enough about how things were on the Bus before everything went topsy-turvy, but he hopes Jemma’s not disappointed that it’s gotta be the Calvalry.

She shakes her head. “No. I- I’d rather not be alone,” she says quick, like she’s embarrassed.

Trip slides an arm around her shoulders and tugs her close to his side before heading out the door. “ _Good._  I wasn’t looking forward to leaving you alone either.”

She leans into him and they take it slow, him taking steps shorter than he’d like and her feet sometimes overlapping his. She asks to stop a the first bathroom they pass so she can freshen up and, when he says she looks beautiful, she gives him that smile he’s starting to delude himself into thinking is just for him. He waits outside for a full five minutes and thinks to shoot off a text to Skye, letting her know something’s come up. She’s quick to answer with an update on Fitz, who’s managed to recover without Jemma and is back to work. Trip considers asking her to make sure he stays in the lab, but Jemma comes back before he decides; probably for the best, it’d just scare Skye.

Jemma’s face is pale and a little wet, but her shoulders are straighter. Trip’d love to wrap his arm around her again, but she’s got such a brave face on, he settles for taking her hand in his. She squeezes it tight.

“This is probably better,” she says while they walk, more to herself than to him. “Coulson would do his best, I’m sure, but he tends to hide his worry behind anger; he yelled at me after I nearly died once, you know.”

“Sounds like Couson.”

“Yes. We’d only been a team for a few weeks at that point and-” Her steps stutter and her grip on his hand turns painful. He slows down, ready to give her all the time she needs if she wants to stop, but she starts right back up again. “May’s the one I went to when I shot Agent Sitwell; she didn’t even bat an eye.”

“You _shot Sitwell_?” How the hell did Trip miss that story?

“Oh, yes!” He’s glad he did miss it because Jemma smiles all the way through recounting it, even when she’s grimacing over her own attempts at lying. He can see she’s not really distracted - thoughts of Ward and the baby are hovering in the tightness around her eyes and the firm hold she keeps on his hand - but she’s trying really hard to be, so he lets her pretend.

Koenig is, thankfully, not running interference outside the big guy’s office for once and they manage to sneak in without being seen.

“What is it?” May asks without looking up from what she’s working on.

“Um,” Jemma says and something in that one syllable is enough to clue May in that something bad’s happened.

She’s up and around the desk in a heartbeat. “Simmons?” she asks gently.

Trip helps Jemma to a chair and she gives him a stern look that says _I’m not_ that _pregnant_. He just smiles back and takes position over her shoulder. May raises an eyebrow at him, but this is Jemma’s show; he’s just here for moral support. And to kill Ward if it’s offered.

Jemma takes a deep breath. “I suppose I’ll get right to the point. I’m pregnant.”

May doesn’t react, which is a reaction in itself. She holds still for a count of three before asking, “How far along?” in a tone of voice that reminds Trip of how he asked about Ward hurting her.

“It happened at Providence, so not long.” Her hand lands on her belly and she looks down at it like she‘s only just realized there’s something under her ribs and above her legs. “Obviously.”

“Ah,” May says carefully. “And you’re planning on going through with this?” Jemma misses it, thanks to her head being bowed and all, but May’s eyes move from her to Trip in one easy slide.

Jemma’s hesitating, he can see her fingers curling in the fabric of her sweater and her shoulders are bowing and May’s looking at him, expecting him to answer … so he does.

“We’re considering our options,” he says and Jemma’s head snaps up so fast he swears he can hear her neck crack, “but it’s a risk factor, so we knew we had to tell you.”

Jemma’s gaping up at him and he’s already the idiot who just lied about being her baby daddy, so he doesn’t bother fighting the urge to tip her jaw shut or to let his knuckles linger under her chin a few seconds too long.

“You’ll have to pull back on your work in the lab,” May says, “same for field work.”

Jemma nods, slowly tearing her eyes away from Trip.

May lifts hers over their heads to the far wall. “Coulson will have more to say when he gets back, but for now I think that’s all that matters.” It sounds so much like an overburdened _wait until your father gets home_ that Trip’s gotta bite back a grin.

He’s also gotta grab Jemma’s arm because she’s not great at picking up on little cues like dismissals. She comes with easy enough and it’s her who laces their fingers together once she’s on her feet, so maybe she’s not too mad at him for that little stunt.

“And Simmons? Trip?” May calls when they’ve reached the door. She’s smiling when they look back at her; it’s the first time Trip’s ever seen her wearing one that wasn’t murderous. “Congratulations.”

They make it exactly fifty-two steps - Trip counts - before Jemma drags him into another closet. This one is right next to the kitchen and smells like someone shoved the entire cereal aisle of the supermarket under his nose.

“ _What_ ,” Jemma says.

He holds up his hands. “I don’t know! She was staring at me and it was obvious she thought that was why I was there and I was thinking about how horrible it’d be to tell May and then Coulson and then _everyone_  - and then to tell the _kid_! And I just thought … what if you didn’t have to?”

She folds her arms over her chest. “I think it’s going to be fairly obvious to everyone that this is not your baby.”

Trip scoffs. “I’d like to see someone try to say otherwise. Hell, I’ll fight _May_ if she tries - I’ll _lose_ , but I’ll do it.” She drags her lips behind her teeth; not even her worry can totally keep her from smiling at that picture and he hates to ruin it, but they’ve gotta be real here. “Listen. I don’t know why I said it and if you want me to, I will go right back up there and tell May I lied and that kid is Ward’s, you don’t even have to be there for it. But-” he takes her hands in his and waits until she’s met his eyes before saying this next part- “I would be over the _moon_ to be your kid’s dad.”

Her hands try to curl out of his but he holds on - not so tight he’s hurting her but tight enough she knows he’s serious.

“Trip,” she says and he counts himself lucky she hasn’t gone back to _Agent Triplett_ , “this is a _massive_ responsibility. One I’m not even certain _I’m_ prepared to take on.” She’s not looking at him and there are tears in her eyes. “I know you’re a good man and you’re trying to protect me from- from him, but once you’ve had the chance to process this properly, I know you’ll-”

He lets go of one of her hands so he can cup her cheek in his palm. Her eyes finally meet his again and she’s so _scared_ \- not of him exactly, but of what he’s gonna say, all the what-comes-next’s that she’s gonna have to face on her own.

“I want you to remember what you just said, okay?” he says. “Because I know you’re still reeling and for probably the first time in your life you have no idea what to do, so what I’m about to say, I don’t even want a response to. I just want you to hear it. Understand?”

She nods into his hand.

He licks his lips and huffs out a laugh. “This is gonna sound so stupid, but the first time I met you? I wanted to marry you. Which I _know_ is crazy. Love at first sight? Come on.” He smiles, trying to laugh at himself, tries to get her to, but she’s just staring. His thumb slides over her cheek and her breath catches. “You were so brave and so strong and you were just so full of love. I mean, you loved everybody. It was like it was this physical thing just pouring out of you. You were taking care of Skye and everybody else, and I thought, ‘I want some of that. I want her to look at _me_ like that.’”

He lets his hand drop to pick hers up again and she watches it, wide-eyed.

“I won’t say it isn’t at all about protecting you - both of you - and I’ll do that whether it’s as his dad or as the super cool uncle who sometimes stares too long at his mom. And I’m not trying to scare you; I’m happy with however much of your heart you can give me. Friendship’s fine - I’ve been loving it the last couple months - and I will love that kid until the day I die no matter what, but I know what I committed to back there.”

He lets that sink in a minute, watches her body fill up with a deep, deep breath.

“Trip-” she starts and he cuts in quick.

“I know that was kind of a lot - especially on top of-” he drops his eyes to her stomach- “everything. And I meant it, I don’t want you to say anything or commit to anything you’ll feel obligated to later, I’m just saying, I am here for this. However you want me.”

It is such an incredibly lame offer after his sappy, over the top confession, that he feels more than a little self-conscious and he kind of wishes he wasn’t holding her hands so he could run out of there. Maybe he shouldn’t be holding her hands at all. Maybe that’s too forward - as if everything _else_ wasn’t too forward. _God_ , he just asked to have a baby with her. He’s an idiot.

“Trip,” she says again, squeezing his hands a little to get his attention. “It’s been more than friendship - the last couple months, I mean.”

His brain’s still trying to track just what she means by that when she squeezes his hands again and slips away.

“And, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to sleep on your offer of a lifelong lie to literally everyone in our lives - and everything else, as well. I still have to decide-” She does that thing where her hand touches her stomach and she just stares for a second. “We’ll talk tomorrow, all right?”

He nods dumbly. “All right.”

She pauses with her hand on the doorknob and turns back with a heartfelt smile. “Thank you. I don’t mean for the lying - but that too - for the-” she waves her hand vaguely- “the everything.”

He nods again. He’s not sure he can move beyond that.

She’s still smiling when she leaves and he gives it a few seconds before following and resting his hands against the door.

“That,” he says slowly, “just happened.”

He’s still an idiot, but he’s an idiot who Jemma Simmons thinks of as more than a friend. And who just offered to _raise a kid_ with her.

“ _What?_ ” he asks, turning to rest his back against the door as he slides to the ground. “You have gone completely insane. Mama always said your heart was gonna mess you up.” He runs his hands over his face. “God, she was so right.”

No matter how much fear beats away in his chest though, he can’t say he’s sorry.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Last chance. Are you sure?_

Jemma hits send on the text and holds her breath while she waits. It’s almost rudely early to be contacting someone, but SHIELD hours are not the civilized world’s hours and she’s often seen Trip up and about as early as she is. Of course, today might be different. She spent most the night awake and if Trip did the same - which would be completely reasonable under the circumstances - he might well be asleep.

Her feet dance under the blankets while she stares at the screen and tries not to count the seconds passing.

Finally…

_100% You?_

She sighs in relief and feels herself smile for the first time all night. She sends off a quick reply - _I’ll let you know soon_  - and throws herself out of bed to dress. It’s a little more ominous a message than she’d like, but she can’t bring herself to tell him why she can’t decide just yet.

She’s keeping it - that’s been almost certain since the moment her fears were realized and no amount of arguing with herself over the dangers has swayed her - but there’s the issue of Trip’s lie that needs to be decided on and, for that, she needs to test herself.

She ties her hair back after a cursory brush through, not willing to spend too much time on things lest she chicken out, and leaves her room.

Her destination’s just around the corner and she stops when she arrives, allowing herself precisely ten seconds to pretend turning around is an option before she knocks. She waits, her stomach in knots, for nearly a full minute and is about to knock again when the door opens slowly.

“Good morning, Fitz,” she says with a falsely bright smile.

“Simmons?” He frowns at her, looks past her to see if anyone else is with her. “Is everything all right? Did something happen?” His voice is thick with sleep and she wonders if it’s the simplicity of his chosen words that prevents him from stumbling or if, half-asleep, he can’t think too quickly for his tongue.

“No, no. Everything’s fine.” She looks down, catches sight of the blue and green striped socks she gave him two Christmases ago. Her heart shudders. “I needed to speak with you, that’s all.”

“Oh. Okay then.” He steps aside, knowing without having to be asked that this is the sort of conversation to require privacy between them.

She hurries past him and then has no idea what to do. She simply stands in the middle of his room, afraid of moving her hands from her sides because if they go anywhere near her stomach he’s certain to realize. She’s not sure how he could from so mundane a clue, but she knows he will.

“Do you want to sit?” he asks once the door’s shut.

“No!” she says, whirling on the spot. Oh, dear. That was too loud, wasn’t it? She’s mucking this up terribly. “I mean-” She fists her hands and closes her eyes. She really should have planned out what she would say first.

“Simmons, are you-”

“I have to tell you-”

They both start and stop at the same moment and are left in an even more awkward silence as a result. Drat and damn.

She takes a deep breath and sets her chin. “I have to tell you something,” she says again.

He looks very much like his old self. The hair is shorter, but he’s not awake enough yet for his frustration with his limitations to cloud his eyes. The only thing in them now is fond frustration with her, the same kind he so often exhibited in the lab when they disagreed.

So much has changed over the last few months and for all her trying to pretend nothing has, to keep going on with their lives as always, this will change things forever.

“I’m pregnant,” she says before she can lose her nerve.

He blinks. His skin pales a little and he reaches for his bed to ease himself onto it. “Um, you’re … okay.” His breathing’s picked up and he’s staring into space in a way that has her concerned.

“Fitz-”

His hand flies between them, holding her off. He takes a couple more deep breaths and his eyes shut the same way they have a million times over the last few weeks while he struggles for control of his own brain. She reaches for him several times, but that’s not what he needs. _She’s_ not what he needs and he’s better off without her help.

“It’s Trip’s, isn’t it?” he asks once he’s steady.

Now it’s her turn to struggle with words. This is why she didn’t answer Trip immediately. She needed to know first whether she could live with lying to the friends she considers close as family for the next several months.

And that’s all it will be. As sweet and, frankly, flattering as Trip’s speech yesterday was (her heart pounds in her chest just thinking about it), this is a short term fix meant to save her the immediate pain of confessing to a one time affair with an agent who turned out to be the enemy as well as the protracted anguish of months spent being followed by pity and poorly hidden disgust. Feigning a relationship with Trip for that time is selfish and very likely cruel given the things he said to her, but when it’s over and everyone sees what will be so very apparent, that the child simply cannot be his, she has no doubt he’ll be happy to be set free of his promises.

But before she can commit to the deception, she has to know she’s capable of it. Even when her silence brings Fitz’s gaze back to hers, she doesn’t allow herself the ease of a nod. She clamps her jaw tight until the words are bubbling up her throat and she’s certain they’ll come out as she intends.

“Yes. It is.”

Fitz looks away again, nodding himself. It’s obvious to him that it would be Trip and, given how easily May believed it, Jemma has to wonder if their stolen glances and discreet smiles haven’t been as inconspicuous as she thought.

“I, uh-”

She takes a step forward. “Fitz-”

“You couldn’t have told me?” he asks, suddenly heated. “You couldn’t have just come out an- an- and _said_ you were with him?”

She gapes, unable to answer with anything other than the truth and, as that’s not an option, unable to answer at all.

He winches and puts the heel of his hand to his head as if that will help him get better control of things. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I- Could you … give me a little time?” he asks. “To myself? I just … I need a little time.”

She swallows thickly. “Of course,” she says and is very pleased that there’s no sign in her voice of the sharp pain behind her eyes. She makes her way as steadily as she’s able to the door and steps out into the hall.

Trip’s quarters are just across the hall from Fitz’s, but she spends several minutes right where she is, leaning against the wall, trying to calm herself. Emotional talks with Fitz always leave her shaken these days and while that was an uncharacteristically easy end (in the lab he frequently throws things), it was no less painful for it.

She lied to him. And in a few months he’ll _know_ she lied to him.

She opens her eyes as she sighs out the worst of her fears on how _that_ will end and finds herself staring at Trip. He’s standing in the door of his room, obviously surprised to find her there.

Silently, he steps aside and offers her his hand. She takes it gratefully and allows herself to be pulled into his room and settled on the edge of his bed. He gives her time to pull herself together, busying himself with straightening papers and tossing socks that fell short of their mark into the laundry hamper.

She laughs, suddenly struck by how odd it is to be here, in Trip’s room, on Trip’s bed, when they’re telling everyone they’re having a child together.

“Hey,” he says, throwing a grin over his shoulder, “I’ll have you know the aerodynamics of a sock make it a lot harder to toss into a target than a basketball or a cyanide capsule.”

And that has her laughing even harder, but these feel more like sobs and in a moment Trip is there at her side, providing her with a steady chest to lean against and warm arms to hold her.

He smells good, she thinks as she calms down. She’s always thought so, but it always seems to strike her anew whenever they’re in close proximity. He’s comfortable too, like his shoulder is perfectly made for resting her head against.

She twists her fingers in the front of his shirt, more idle than desperate now, and sighs. “I keep doing this to you.”

His hand doesn’t pause in its gentle path up and down her arm. “You don’t hear me complaining.”

No, she doesn’t. He’s far too good a man for that and she’s taking advantage of him.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks after several seconds.

“I told Fitz.”

“Oh.” There’s a question in the syllable.

“He guessed it was yours.”

With her ear to his chest, she can hear the slight uptick to his heartbeat. “What’d you say?”

“That it was.”

His heart slows again and his grip on her tightens only a little. “Good.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, she pushes herself up. He lets her go, but his hand settles on her back, keeping up the soothing rhythm.

“He didn’t take it well,” she says to his knees. “To put it lightly.”

“Better this than the other.”

She meets his eyes, curious, and he shrugs.

“Fitz was never gonna take it well, you having another guy’s kid. Better me than …”

He’s right. She wishes she’d thought of that before, it might have made all of this a little easier. “And, with any luck, when it comes out who the father really is, he’ll be in a better place to take the news.” She can only imagine what it would’ve been like if he’d heard the truth today, with his condition still so tenuous.

Trip pinches the back of her neck gently and she jumps, startled.

“Hey,” he says, “what’d I say? I will fight anyone who tries to say otherwise.”

It’s sweet of him to say, but she knows that attitude won’t last.

“Have you eaten?” he asks as he stands. “Skye says you didn’t come to dinner.”

“I ate late.” The truth is she retreated to her room after the meeting with May and refused to come out again until she was certain the others would be in bed. She then attempted to make herself a sandwich, deciding a careful balance of havarti and salami was precisely what she needed, but ended up over-making it. When it was obviously edible only by gluttonous cartoon characters and snakes capable of dislocating their jaws, she tossed it and ate cold cereal instead. Now that Trip mentions it, her stomach is rather empty - and that’s likely not good for the baby.

“You want me to bring something back?” he asks. “Or are you up for coming with?”

Much as she would like to hide for the next nine months, that’s not a feasible option and she might as well face the music now. “I’ll come.”

He smiles like he expected as much and again holds the door open for her. Once in the hall, he takes her hand. There’s a hesitation in his grip that lets her know he’ll end the contact if she shows the slightest displeasure and, as she’s rather glad to have his presence to help her through the first of what is to be many long days full of lies, she laces their fingers to anchor them together. 

They share a look that heats her cheeks and are just set to continue on to the kitchen when Fitz’s door opens.

He immediately catches sight of their joined hands and turns away to close his door. Trip squeezes her fingers and she can tell his expression is asking a question, but she can’t bring herself to look away from Fitz long enough to decipher it.

Fitz pauses for a moment over his locked door before rolling his shoulders back, bracing himself to face them. Jemma opens her mouth, hoping to reassure him somehow, but before she can settle on just what to say, Fitz has wrapped his arms around her, tight enough to squeeze out the tears she’s been so determined to keep in.

“Sorry,” he whispers in her ear while her free hand clutches at the back of his shirt. “You don’t need two babies to take care of.”

“Fitz. You’re not-”

“I’m happy for you.” He squeezes her so she can’t breathe. “Really.” And then he steps away, releasing her all at once and exchanging a heavy look with Trip that she can’t make sense of. “See you in the labs,” he says and stuffs his hands in his pockets to walk down the hall so fast you’d think the hounds of hell were after him.

“Well,” Jemma says once he’s out of sight.

“I guess he’s okay with it?”

She leans into his side and keeps up the posture as they make their way more slowly to the kitchen. She could learn to get used to this and, dangerous as that possibility is, she’s not willing yet to let it stop.

That’s how they enter the kitchen. Fitz isn’t there to get a second look at them looking so couple-y, but Coulson is. It’s unusual to find him out of his office these days, but it seems the early hour has him risking being seen. He freezes over his cup of coffee when they come into view and only Trip’s suddenly tight grip keeps her from dropping his hand.

“May told me,” Coulson says, his tone stern. He sets his cup aside to approach them. “And I have to say, you’re lucky it happened when it did - when there was no SHIELD, no official chain of command - or you’d be in violation of at least half a dozen regulations.”

Trip doesn’t know Coulson as well as Jemma does and actually shifts his weight forward so he’s somewhat in front of her. Jemma only meets Coulson’s stern expression with a smile. He’s good. He doesn’t break until he’s right in front of them.

“And I am too because I would _not_ have wanted to punish the two of you. Congratulations.” He wraps them both up in a hug much less tight than Fitz’s but still plenty to make Jemma feel that sting behind her eyes again.

“Um, thank you, sir,” Trip says a little unsteadily when they’re finally released. Well, when _he_ is. Coulson keeps a hand on Jemma’s shoulder and looks her up and down carefully as if expecting to see a full baby bump.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“ _Fine_ ,” she says. Physically at least, she feels right as rain. There’s no nausea this morning, not that she allowed it to slow her down before she knew the true cause.

“We’ll have to talk about you taking a step back.”

She nods. “I’d like to keep working as much as possible.”

He squeezes her shoulder, plainly relieved. “Glad to hear it. Come see me later, whenever you’re up for it.” His hand slides down her arm before it leaves her entirely and he turns to Trip again. “Trip? Take care of them.”

Trip stands at military attention but his smile grows. “I intend to, sir.”

“Good.” Coulson smiles at them both again before collecting his cup and leaving out the opposite door.

“I think,” Trip says slowly, “I just got your dad’s blessing.”

“Hush,” she snaps playfully and lets him go to head for the pantry. “What would you like to eat? Cooking makes me feel better,” she adds before he can protest.

He leans over the island. “Eggs and toast?”

She gives him a look. She’s not amused by paltry requests.

He chuckles. “Fine. Waffles, then?”

“Better.” He watches her while she works, only coming in towards the end to slice up oranges to add to the plates.

She tries not to think about how domestic it feels. This is _temporary_. Trip will come to his senses in a few months’ time, if not sooner.

That thought does nothing to negate the warm pleasure she feels every time he catches her eye and somehow, without saying a single word sometimes, manages to leave her smiling more broadly than she was before.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“And the _goose_!” Skye yells, laughing so hard Trip can barely understand her. She’s giddy from jetlag, still on Germany time from the two day mission they just got back from, but it’s not her Trip’s smiling at while he works in the kitchen. Jemma’s curled up on the couch with her, legs tucked under her, smiling and yeah, even laughing while they reminisce about days on the Bus.

She should be in bed at this hour (should’ve been in bed a _lot_ of hours ago) but she kept insisting she’d be just a few more minutes, she just wanted to run a couple more tests…

Trip’s about fifty percent sure she drugged him somehow without him noticing and he’s gonna stick to that excuse if anyone asks why he was asleep in the corner of the lab while his girlfriend was sciencing late into the night. And that thought puts a whole new smile on his face while he flips the first pancakes off the griddle. Jemma’s his _girlfriend_.

It’s been nearly a week since they agreed to be a couple - which is pretty much the least romantic way of getting together Trip can think of, but they are and he’ll take it however he can get it. (It’s better than asking Coulson to send them undercover together, which was a serious consideration for a while there.) He’s been thinking about kissing her, thought about it most of the time he was in Germany. Only he’s not sure she’d want him to. Yeah, she agreed to this, but the last guy she was with was Grant Ward and that’s gotta leave a mark.

 _Another_ mark.

“First batch is ready,” he calls, breaking into the fun the girls are having on the couch.

“Yeah,” Skye scoffs, “tell us when they’re edible.”

Trip narrows his eyes at her across the dining hall. “ _All_ my pancakes are edible,” he says seriously, “there is no feed-it-to-the-dog first batch.” He slides two plates across the kitchen island and taps the one with more pancakes. “That one’s for Jemma.”

“I am perfectly capable of managing my own caloric intake,” she says while Skye bounds over to grab ‘em.

Trip ladles more batter onto the griddle. “Yeah, and you’re also capable of going to bed at a reasonable hour. Doesn’t mean you’re gonna.”

She pouts and it’s damn cute, but gets up to meet Skye at one of the tables. It’s really not fair of him to pull that on her, even if she does have a habit of staying up too late. Tonight was about tomorrow more than whatever she was working on.

At two tomorrow afternoon they’ve got an appointment with a doc May vetted for them. SHIELD didn’t have too many dedicated ob-gyns and the ones they did have were either lost in the uprising or disappeared back into civilian life. A general medic might be able to handle it, but they haven’t been able to recruit one of those yet; Jemma and Trip are still splitting that job between the two of them.

So to a civilian they go and Jemma’s nervous. Trip is too, in all honesty - not that he’s gonna say that to her. She’s probably freaking out enough in her head for the both of them, she doesn’t need his worries on top of all that. Though if she _did_ drug him, he might owe her a thanks; no way he would’ve gotten that nap in otherwise.

He abandons the griddle after he flips the pancakes and starts opening cupboards in search of just the thing to thank her without actually thanking her.

“Okay,” Skye mutters around a bite, “these are _really_ good.”

“A great deal better than May’s,” Jemma agrees and Skye nearly chokes from laughing.

“How bad could they have been?” Trip asks, hiding the result of his search behind the flour; it’s not a surprise if she sees. “May always seemed pretty self-sufficient to me.”

“Yes, well, that stops at baked goods.”

“They were like _rubber_ ,” Skye says. “Fitz actually talked about weaponizing them somehow.”

“He was only half serious,” Jemma says, but hides her smile in another bite. Trip’s guessing half serious for a guy who’s entire job is making weapons is still pretty damn serious.

He chuckles while he loads his own plate and starts the last batch, careful to add the surprise when they’re both bent over their plates. There’s plenty of batter left and he’ll leave it in the fridge for anyone getting up at a sane hour to use, but this is more than enough for three - or four, technically.

“You lucked out,” Skye says. She gestures to her plate with her fork while she talks. “Between you and Trip, this kid is gonna be the best cook _ever_.”

Shit.

Luckily Skye’s enjoying her food too much to notice the way Jemma tenses up. Trip quickly flips off the last of the pancakes and heads over to join them. If there was any chance of Skye realizing something’s up with Jemma, it disappears when he starts piling more stacks on Jemma’s plate.

“Ohhh!” Skye says and reaches for one of the chocolate chip ones.

Trip slaps her hand and she has the good sense to fight back, using her fork to try to get around him. Soon it’s a full on fight with the table jostling between them and Jemma laughing while she tries to keep the syrup from tipping over.

Trip’s gotta give it to Skye, she’s good, a lot better than she used to be, but he’s got a decade of training under his belt and she’s still just a rookie. He distracts her by stealing her plate out from under her and then slides over the table top to grab her from behind.

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” he says while she struggles against the hold he’s got her in, “are for people eating for two.”

Jemma carefully replaces the syrup bottle on the table. “Skye can have some if she likes.”

“Ha!” Skye crows.

Trip doesn’t let her go. “How much did you eat while we were gone?”

Jemma frowns. “I ate three square meals a day _every day_ thanks to Koenig’s constant pestering. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

Trip shakes his head. “Not a thing.” His innocent expression doesn’t last long because Skye gets her foot hooked around his ankle and nearly gets them both on the ground.

By the time he’s got his balance back, she’s halfway through one of the pancakes. He just shakes his head and rounds the table to take the seat next to Jemma. She gives him a disapproving look but leans a little closer to him once he’s sitting. Just to see if he can, he puts his arm over the back of her chair. She doesn’t move away.

“O-kay,” Skye says. She snags another chocolate chip pancake. “I know when I’m the third wheel. I’d say don’t do anything I wouldn’t, but obviously it’s a little late.” She winks at Jemma on her way out.

Trip squeezes her shoulder, holding her steady until the door closes.

Jemma bends double, her breath leaving in a long stream.

“It’s okay,” he says, even though it’s not.

She looks at him through the curtain of her hair and he slides a hand up her back.

“It _is_.”

She sits up, still with that look on her face. “I _lucked out_.”

He winces. Doesn’t mean to, but it slips out. She just sounds so _bitter_ , he can’t help it.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “You don’t deserve that. It’s not your fault they don’t…” She waves her hand, unable to finish, and he feels like shit because yeah, it is his fault. If he hadn’t opened his damn mouth, Jemma would’ve told May the truth and nobody would be saying anything about the baby’s father.

He pulls her into his side as he stands. “Come on. It’s way past your bedtime.”

She lets him change the subject, as eager as he is to be rid of the last one, but hesitates, looking to the plates. “I was going to clean up.”

“I’ll do that.”

“You cooked,” she points out with a frown.

“And I can clean just as well, you wait and see. Except don’t - because you’re going to bed.” He pinches her arm.

She settles closer against his side to get away from the pain and he grins before dropping his arm to lace their fingers.

“You don’t have to come with me,” she says while they head out the door. The halls aren’t quite deserted, even at this time of night, but it’s not like everyone doesn’t know; they don’t bother putting any distance between them.

“I think I do,” he says seriously.

“I’m not a child.”

“And you’re up at four in the morning because…?”

“Because my boyfriend insisted on making me pancakes.”

Yep. He’s her boyfriend. He is still stupid happy about that. “They were good though, right?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes as they come around the last corner before her room. Somehow knowing behind every door is a sleeping - or supposed to be sleeping - agent makes this hall seem quieter than the others and they slow down.

“Yes,” she says softly, “it was very good.” She stops in front of her door and turns to take both of his hands. “Thank you.”

He squeezes gently. “Someone’s gotta take care of you.”

She laughs. “ _Everyone_ takes care of me. You should’ve seen-” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Later,” she promises. “Now I should get some sleep before tomorrow. Assuming that’s even possible.”

“Hey.” He holds her hands when she would pull away. “Everything’s gonna be fine. It’s just a routine check-up.”

“Yes. I’m sure it will be perfectly healthy.” She’s got that look on her face, the same one Skye left her with and he can’t let her go like that, not while she’s thinking about Ward and the kid.

“Jemma,” he says, not sure what he can say to make it better. She knows there’s nothing, he can see that in her eyes. And then she’s opening her mouth to say something - something bad, probably, and he can’t let that happen.

He drops her hands to catch her jaw and kisses her. It’s not what he would’ve wanted for it but it does the trick. After the longest heartbeat of his life she relaxes into him and her arms are wrapped around his ribs and it’s nice. It’s _really_ nice.

He pulls back after a few seconds, lets her see the smile on his face. And wow, the one she’s wearing is better than hearing her laugh with Skye.

“Night,” he says.

She nods, stumbles back against her door. “Night.”

“I’ll check in on you about noon,” he says, “make sure you’re up.”

“Right.” She makes it almost all the way into her room before she snaps back. “You’re the one on Germany time!”

“Then you check on me!” he laughs, walking backwards. He’s still got the dishes to do and he’s glad for it - no way he’d be able to sleep, not after that.

The last glimpse he gets of her is her shy smile before the door cuts them off. Once he’s sure it’s shut, he spins in place and bounces on his heel. Jemma’s wrong. The civilian doc’s gonna be fine, the baby’s gonna be healthy, it’s gonna be a great day. He can feel it.

That warm feeling carries him nearly all the way back around the corner before Jemma’s scream stops him cold.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jemma’s phone is sitting on the dash, ticking down the seconds. Trip left her with very specific orders that if it reaches zero before his return, she is to climb out of the vehicle, walk calmly to the stairwell, and make her way to the street below where she will then walk into any restaurant of her choosing and proclaim, loudly, that her purse has just been stolen and she’s pregnant.

It is, as far as plans go, not the best she’s ever heard from Trip - though it is at least slightly better than “you cross us off, one of you dies too” - but it is terribly endearing.

She’s not expecting to have to utilize it, however. The plan for the day may have changed last minute, but both Coulson and May approved of this alternative; Jemma trusts them.

There’s less than a minute left and she drags her hand furtively over her thigh while looking out the windows. They’re not tinted like most of the Playground’s vehicles are. This is a strictly undercover van, affixed with only minimal improvements in case of a firefight so as to appear unobtrusive among civilian vehicles.

Trip appears from between two minivans and flashes her a peace sign, their agreed upon signal that all is well. She relaxes and grabs the phone before it can beep, then climbs out to meet him.

Three figures follow Trip at a careful distance. The woman in lead smiles and offers Jemma her hand.

“Jemma Simmons,” Jemma says, attempting a smile.

“Isabel Hartley, and I know who you are - I was with SHIELD before it fell.”

Hartley squeezes her hand before letting it go and Jemma hides her falling smile by looking to the other two. If Hartley knows of her, it’s as half of FitzSimmons and Jemma hasn’t been that for months now; given all that’s happened she doubts she ever will be again.

“This is Idaho and Hunter. They’re no-good, dirty mercenaries-”

“Hey, now,” the one named Hunter whines in a London accent. “We washed our hands and everything before this meet.”

It’s a little less difficult for Jemma to feign her smile.

“-but they’re good men,” Hartley finishes. “You can trust them with - whatever this is.”

“What is this,” Idaho asks, “by the way? The man in charge hasn’t exactly been talkative.”

“Like you’ve heard him,” Hunter mutters.

“That’s above your clearance,” Trip says smoothly, cutting them all off. No one looks happy about it, but Hartley at least nods in acceptance. “All you need to know is that we’re going to meet a potential asset - public place, middle of the day, hopefully no surprises.” His hand rests at Jemma’s back in anticipation of her knotting stomach. She’s grateful for the consideration, but it does little to settle the unease she’s been feeling since early this morning. “The three of you will watch from a distance, keep the perimeter, make sure nothing looks sketchy. Anything does, you call it in. Think you can handle it?”

“That’s all?”

Hartley throws Hunter a look and he only shakes his head.

“No, seriously, that’s all? You want us to babysit the perimeter?”

Trip drops his hand from Jemma’s back to step forward. “This is a top priority mission. The Director himself would be on it if circumstances hadn’t pulled him away and, even though he’s on the other side of the world right now, he’s texting me every five minutes for updates. So if you think this ‘babysitting’ gig is beneath you, you can leave.” Trip looks to the other two.

“Don’t you worry about us,” Hartley says, “we’re in.” She heads back between the cars, grabbing Hunter in a bruising grip along the way.

Trip waits until they’re out of sight to face Jemma. “Well,” he sighs, “that could’ve gone worse.”

“Do you trust them?” she asks, giving in to the temptation to rest a hand over her stomach now there’s no one else to see.

Trip steps up to her and splays his hands on either side of hers, holding her waist. “It’s not saying much, but Hartley had a rep back in the day - and I’m pretty sure she was the Isabel I heard Hand talking to after things settled down at the Hub.”

Jemma bites her lip to keep from pointing out Victoria Hand, while loyal to SHIELD, wasn’t her favorite person.

“And Coulson trusts them - enough to let them cover us for this.”

But not enough to tell them what’s really going on.

It can’t be helped however. Jemma turns for the van, going slow so that Trip can wrap an arm around her back and walk with her. Coulson’s not really on the other side of the world and May and Skye could have come along, per the original plan, to keep watch, but no one wants to spread word around the Playground of just who’s sleeping in the basement and, given the events of early this morning, leaving him unattended was impossible. (She would call it unthinkable, but she’s certain she saw Coulson considering it more than once before seeing her and Trip off.)

Trip shuts her door for her before heading around to the driver’s side. She tries not to think of this morning - or the way Skye’s face went cold and distant when she was told or the way her own heart wouldn’t stop pounding for what felt like hours afterward - as she buckles herself in.

“What time is it?” Trip asks when he climbs in.

“Nearly one,” she says after a glance at her phone. She turns it back over in her lap and runs her palm over her thigh.

“Perfect. Enough time to get there and fill out all the paperwork before two.” He presses his shoulders back into his seat while he digs in his pocket for something. “How’re you feeling, Mrs. Trimmons?” he asks.

Jemma rolls her eyes. “This is the last time I let Skye falsify my identity.”

Trip grabs her hand, stopping her from digging the heel of her hand deeper into her leg. “You need to stop doing that,” he says softly as he slips a simple gold band on her finger. He kisses her knuckles once it’s on. “You’re clean. Promise.”

Tears sting at her eyes and she looks away in time to see a midsize sedan and a motorcycle pull up in the aisle ahead of them.

“Are you sure you wanna-”

“Just drive,” she all but pleads.

Trip starts the car and pulls them out, albeit a little awkwardly as he’s still holding her hand.

She _knows_ her hands are clean. She spent nearly a quarter of an hour this morning scrubbing at them, trying to get the feel of Ward’s blood off. She closes her eyes as Trip pulls them into the bright sunlight. Ward tried to kill himself this morning. He folded a piece of paper from one of his books into a knife and cut a line down his arm and if she hadn’t looked in on him when she did, he would have…

She squeezes Trip’s hand and he squeezes right back.

The drive to their destination isn’t long, though there’s plenty of time for the others to implement a little diversionary driving. Jemma watches with some interest as the motorcycle turns down completely the wrong street, only to reappear behind them less than a mile later. The sedan stays closer, sometimes pulling ahead, sometimes falling so far behind she can’t even make it out.

“They’re good,” Trip says and it’s so obviously an attempt at ignoring the previous topic that she can’t help a smile.

He pulls them into the office building’s parking lot. The sedan pulls around the corner to park at the far end and the motorcycle speeds on to disappear entirely.

“You ready?”

She nods even though she’s not, not at all. Thanks to Ward she’s had a scant four hours sleep in the last forty and she’d really rather have her full faculties for something as important as this.

Trip wraps his arm around her shoulders as they head into the building, an easy show of affection from a man pretending to be her husband. He smiles kindly at the guard and makes small talk while asking for directions. She lets him take some of her weight, enjoying the warmth and size of him at her side. It’s nice. Normal. For a few moments, she lets herself pretend they really are just as they appear to be: a young and in love couple on their way to see their baby’s first sonogram.

He wraps his arms around her from behind in the lift and she feels his grin when, as the doors close, he spots Hunter leaning presumptuously over the guard’s desk.

“Nervous?” he asks as they rise up.

She shakes her head. “Enclosed space. Going up.” While she knows the odds of plummeting to the Earth are slim in an elevator, it’s basically every nightmare she has of late, wrapped up and made real. All it needs is bone-crushing water flowing through the cracks and Grant Ward looming in a corner.

Trip holds her tighter. “Oh.” He moves to take her hand as they arrive on their floor. “We’ll take the stairs down,” he promises and she nods her thanks.

It is perhaps more trouble than it ought to be filling out their forms. They each remember the particulars of their false identities, of course - they are highly trained spies - but they never had to do mundane things like this while in SHIELD. There were forms, yes, but since all agency physicians had full access to medical and family history, those sorts of boxes never needed checking. As such, even though they’re early for their two o’clock appointment, it’s not until five after that Trip rises to turn in the paperwork. Soon after, they’re ushered into the back and left alone with instructions for Jemma to change into a paper gown.

Trip sheepishly turns his back the moment the nurse is out of the room. “I’ll just- uh- Closing my eyes now.”

“I don’t know why,” she says, pulling off the Raiders t-shirt Skye insisted she wear this morning to appear “as civilian as possible.” “We have slept together.”

“Yes,” Trip says and she can almost hear him rolling his eyes, “but-” He breaks off to laugh and she bites her own grin.

They _have_ slept together, though not in the traditional sense. It was Trip who found her in the bathroom after she’d stabilized Ward and Trip who dragged her to her quarters, where he pulled her down into her bed with a grip like iron. As he put it, she couldn’t be trusted not to keep herself up worrying. And so they slept curled up together in her tiny bed until Coulson woke them just before noon.

It was, frankly, the best sleep she’s had since the uprising. And the waking up wasn’t too bad either. She curls her neck to one side, remembering the way his stubble scraped against her skin when he was still half-asleep and unaware what was going on.

She hops up on the exam bed. “You can turn back around now.”

He does so without hesitation and immediately freezes. It seems to have occurred to him too late that while she’s precisely as covered as she was up top (from his perspective, at least; from hers she feels very under-dressed in nothing but a paper shirt), her legs are bare.

His eyes fix firmly on them and his jaw even goes a little slack. She turns one ankle experimentally. He swallows.

“Trip?” she asks, putting a little bit of sing-song into her tone.

“Uh huh?” His voice is distant and her lips curl as she imagines are the scandalous things flitting through his head right now. She moves one of her knees aside, not far enough to be scandalous but just enough to have his tongue darting out. “Uh huh!” he says again, more loudly as he snaps out of it. “Yes. Right. What’d you say?”

His gaze jumps to her face and fixes firmly there. She devolves into giggles.

“Oh, hell no,” he says and then his hands are on her, tickling her through the thin paper. She falls back on the bed, writhing under his fingers. “You are _mean_ , Jennifer Trimmons,” he says, “and you are going to _apologize_.”

“Am I?” she asks, panting when he gives her room to breathe. He’s very close, his face only inches away from hers, and suddenly all she can think of is the kiss. He did it to distract her from thoughts of today and Ward and the baby; she wonders what worry she could express now that would entice him to do it again.

“Oh! Sorry!”

Trip steps away and Jemma is grateful for the angle of the bed. It’s no doubt so anyone poking a head in uninvited won’t catch a glimpse of something they oughtn’t, but it also means her doctor can’t yet see how her cheeks are flaming.

“No, we’re sorry.” Trip moves to shake the doctor’s hand, allowing Jemma a few seconds to sit up and compose herself. He introduces them both for her and when Jemma faces the doctor, it’s to find her smiling.

“I’ve heard worse fake names,” she sighs finally. “I’m Dr. Hale.”

“You-” Jemma shoots Trip a look.

“-know?” he finishes for her.

Dr. Hale begins emptying the cupboards of supplies. “You mean do I know that Melinda didn’t get in touch with me after six years just to ‘chat’? Yeah, spies don’t do that. I’ve been wondering when I’d finally get someone with obviously doctored paperwork.”

“Hey!” Trip snaps and Jemma has to admit she’s insulted on Skye’s behalf as well.

“To someone who used to work with SHIELD,” Hale amends. She motions Jemma to lift an arm and affixes a blood pressure cuff to it. “I don’t typically do this sort of thing myself, but I want you two exposed to as few of my staff as possible - for your good and theirs. So if it’s all the same to you-” she fixes Trip with a look- “your mom and I are old friends.”

“Cool. She loves new people- old people, whatever.”

Hale shakes her head and continues the exam. As far as Jemma can tell from her research into prenatal exams, it all goes according to book aside from Hale doing the grunt work herself. Jemma’s blood pressure is good, she’s in good health, and there are no risk factors she knows of on her side of the family. Trip says the same to that last question and she makes a mental note to ask him later whether he’s only lying or if he looked into Ward’s family history to be prepared.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Hale asks as the sonogram machine warms up.

That the father is a psychopath seems a little too personal, even for her doctor, and Jemma can’t think of a single thing she’d meant to say. She  _tries_ to remember the list she made, but all she can visualize in her mind is the blank piece of paper she wrote it all on.

“She works in a lab,” Trip offers, moving a little closer to her side. He’s sitting on a rolling stool and holding her hand in his while he watches Hale spread an icy gel on her stomach. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

Hale frowns. “It shouldn’t be. There’s a kit they’ll give you before you leave and it includes a list of substances and activities to avoid, so be sure to read up on that, but for the most part the baby’s safe so long as you’re safe. If you question anything though, keep your distance. Better safe than sorry.”

She presses the wand to Jemma’s stomach and a staticky image appears on the screen. The wand moves slowly left, then right and, as the seconds drag on, Jemma’s heart leaps into her throat. She doesn’t know how tightly she’s holding Trip’s hand until he kisses hers again.

“It’s okay,” he breathes, just loudly enough for her to hear.

“I had the bends,” she says, suddenly fearful. “A few days after-” after the uprising, after the conception- “I ended up on the bottom of the ocean for some time and had to be kept in a pressurized chamber for hours afterward. Could that…?”

Hale smiles kindly. “It could, but you said you’re about four months along now? At that early a stage, the only worry there is miscarriage.” She shrugs. “Kid’s a fighter.” The screen catches her eye and she leans in while holding the wand steady against Jemma’s stomach. “And there he is.” She points to a curve at the top of the screen. “Little guy’s got his back to us so it’s hard to tell, but there’s the head … shoulders … down here’s the butt-”

“Uh,” Trip says, “is that a-”

“ _Foot_ ,” Hale says. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. The size is right for the conception date you gave me, so all-in-all the baby looks pretty healthy.”

Jemma relaxes for the first time in what feels like ages. Her body feels unaccountably weak now that she’s heard the prognosis; she could fall asleep right here and not get up for days.

There’s not much left to be done except get cleaned up, and Hale leaves them to do that in privacy. Trip gives Jemma his back while she changes again and she can just see the smile on his face while he examines the print-outs of the sonogram. He looks … invested.

She steps further behind him and puts her hands on her stomach where it still feels cold from the gel. She knows he won’t stay - _can’t_ stay, not with the way people will look at them both after this baby’s born - but she can’t stop herself hoping maybe he will. He kissed her and he slept in her bed and he’s smiling like that … it must mean something, mustn’t it?

“I’m decent,” she says.

“Good,” he says, turning around with his eyes still on the pictures, “because I know what she said, but I want your opinion because this _seriously_ looks like a-”

She grabs his hands - carefully, so as not to bend the pictures - and uses her hold on him to go up on her toes for a kiss. Just a quick one.

“I liked the kiss,” she says. “This morning, I mean. I didn’t get the chance to say because everything went so wrong, but I liked it very much and I hope that-”

He kisses her, just as quick and chaste as she kissed him, but when he pulls back it’s only so far as to let her see his smile. She’s always loved his smile.

“I liked it too,” he says. He slides an arm around her shoulders and walks her out to pick up their kit from the front desk and make their next appointment.

She wonders, while yawning into his shoulder, whether she’ll be able to convince him to join her for a nap when they get back to the Playground.

 


End file.
